


These Walls Don't Speak

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Spirits and Cocaine [4]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt Javier Peña, Infidelity, M/M, One Shot, Protective Steve Murphy, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: A shootout goes wrong but they always have each other.
Relationships: Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Series: Spirits and Cocaine [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100027
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	These Walls Don't Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look...I finally wrote from Steve's POV...what a sap.

Steve’s heart had been beating rapidly in his chest, thumping against his ribcage while his hands were curled in a death grip on his gun. The area was small, tight between buildings and he didn’t know how many Narcos were surrounding them, waiting for them to get close enough to shoot. The sun had been beating down on them, the heat stifling, his vest restricting, sweat pouring down his temple, his throat. He remembered trying to lean into the space, blinking past the blinding sunlight, remembered a hand grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back against the brick wall, head smacking off the surface right before bullets rained down on them.

The situation had been dangerous, and Steve found himself disoriented, unable to do his single most important fucking job…look out for Javi. He heard a groan, felt a heavy, limp weight slam into him and suddenly he was holding a body, leaning heavily against him while the Bloc rushed past with shouts of anger and returned gunfire, making the push forward.

A creative bout of cursing in his ear, strained and broken, brought him back to the present, his mind racing as they both lowered to the ground, Javi’s eyes squeezed closed with pain, blood splattered up his neck and the side of his face. Steve felt frozen for one long moment, blood turning to ice in his veins as something like horror washed through him, pure terror as his best friend, his partner, his lover had been shot.

One of the men who’d stayed behind was already moving, pulling out a first-aid kit and Steve seemed to be knocked back into reality, the realization that it wasn’t sweat coating his hands but blood, making him move, “Javi? Where are you hit?” he began patting him down frantically, question coming out gritty, the words like poison on his tongue. “Where Javi!?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, coughing roughly. “They hit my vest and my arm.”

Steve looked, really looked and realized he was right, the bullets must have hit at just the right angle from above them to smack directly into his chest and from the way he’d gone stumbling into him…from the back as well.

It took him all of five seconds to realize, as he gently lifted Javi’s arm, tearing the sleeve with a knife the soldier handed him, that Javi had been the one to pull him back and out of the gunfire, having yanked him into the wall and used his body as a shield. Nausea twisted his stomach, threatened to climb up his throat, “you fucking idiot.”

Javi was clenching his teeth and trying to breath slowly while the soldier worked at removing the vest, “better a bullet to the arm then a dead body.”

Except Javi couldn’t have known that, couldn’t have known they’d get lucky and not hit something critical…hell it was entirely possible they had fractured a rib or fucked up his spine. Anger began to simmer under his skin, not at Javi, but at these bastards all around them, who fought them day in and day out, and he found himself snatching the wrist of the soldier, “don’t take off his vest, you already radioed for backup, don’t want to leave him vulnerable.”

“Steve it’s…”

“No,” he hissed. “Shut up and breath, it stays on until we get you to a hospital.”

The soldier shook his head and pointed, his eyes sympathetic if a little exasperated and Steve followed his finger, only to find half a dozen faces staring from the windows. There was one boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, standing in a doorway, radio in one shaking hand, expression twisted into one of such fear that it made him pause. Of course, of fucking course these people would be scared of what would happen if a DEA was killed in a shootout with Escobar’s men, they knew what happened the last time one of them were killed and Steve found himself viciously thankful for it. They were safe, nobody would move on them and they just needed to get Javi to a hospital.

A slippery hand clumsily grabbed his and Steve found himself staring at Javi, whose lips were twitching with a weak little smile, “can we get the vest off now? hmm?”

Steve let out a heavy breath, one that came from deep, deep down inside him, releasing something that had coiled tightly the moment he realized the person who stumbled against him had been the Javi, the moment he’d seen the mess of blood, “yeah, yeah, let’s get this off.”

They made quick work of it, the wound on Javi’s arm almost superficial, though the way he was grimacing, left Steve thinking the ones to the vest had caused more damage. The solider had slipped away to direct the stretcher, which Javi predictably grumbled at.

“Well…this is different for a Tuesday, though I could really use a cigarette,” he muttered.

Steve shook his head, felt his eyes sting, “that was really fucking stupid Javi.”

Those familiar brown eyes, the ones that Steve woke up to every morning and were starting to feel a little like home, met his, utterly unrepentant, “I did the same thing you would do for me. Nothing more to it Steve.”

“Liar.”

This time Javi’s smile was genuine, untroubled, “I’m a man in love Steve, don’t go blaming me for that.”

He could, he really easily could, because adrenalin was still pumping through his veins, both from his own near-death experience and seeing Javi on his back, doused in blood for the first time. Steve wanted to expel the jittery energy inside him, wanted to yell at Javi for being so damned reckless, for scaring him, for almost making him do this whole thing alone, for…for loving him.

Except he wouldn’t have meant it and he’d spend the whole night drinking the guilt away.

Instead, Steve did something a little reckless of his own, cast his gaze up and to the sides, found all those eyes had retreated, seemingly reassured that a member of the DEA wasn’t dying today, and that fragile truce would hold. Leaning over Javier, he kissed him quickly, deeply, tasting blood, sweat, and the lingering burn of alcohol and smoke, cupped his cheek in his hand, pretended for two precious seconds it was just them, alone in the world.

When he finally pulled away, the sounds of footsteps moving rapidly toward them, he found Javier looking up at him, expression easy and peaceful as it was last night, curled into his side, tracing shapes on his ribs in the dim lighting. He wasn’t going anywhere and neither was Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> Love to hear your thoughts! If you have any suggestions/prompts also feel free to share!


End file.
